


I'm Not Fortune's Fool

by deathspells



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Professor Hannibal Lecter, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Slow Burn, Trans Will Graham, sugar daddy implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-26 17:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathspells/pseuds/deathspells
Summary: Will Graham, a last-semester college student, runs into his old psychology professor, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, at a student production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. They reconnect and bond over a mutual love of Shakespeare and poetry, but the Chesapeake Ripper sees a darkness in Will he wants to rouse. They flirt through murder and Shakespeare quotes.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a self-indulgent excuse to see Hannibal and Will make more references to Shakespeare. Still in early days with this, I have major plot points planned out through at least 10 chapters I think, probably more. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this, and I will almost certainly edit this as I go. Tags to be added. Right now it's rated T but it will become an E in time.  
> Hope you like Shakespeare as much as I do!

> _If we shadows have offended,  
> _ _Think but this, and all is mended—  
> _ _That you have but slumbered here  
> _ _While these visions did appear.  
> _ _And this weak and idle theme,  
> _ _No more yielding but a dream,  
> _ _Gentles, do not reprehend.  
> _ _If you pardon, we will mend.  
> _ _And, as I am an honest Puck,  
> _ _If we have unearnèd luck  
> _ _Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,  
> _ _We will make amends ere long.  
> _ _Else the Puck a liar call.  
> _ _So good night unto you all.  
> _ _Give me your hands if we be friends,  
> _ _And Robin shall restore amends._

As the lights on stage dimmed and rose again for the actors to take their bow, Will Graham joined the crowd in a standing ovation. For a student performance the production was remarkable. Now in the light of the house, Will looked across the audience and found himself making eye contact with his last semester’s psychology professor, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who acknowledged him with a polite nod. Will returned the gesture with a smile.

He made his way to the bathroom and was just about to check his jacket out of the coat closet when he heard a familiar accent behind him.

“Mr. Graham,” the voice called.

Will took a deep breath in, preparing himself for his own performance of small talk and social interaction. He turned around to see Dr. Lecter approaching him, hand extended. Will was surprised the doctor had recognized him at all, let alone remembered his name, after the lecture hall last semester. Sure, he’d come into office hours a few times, but countless students must have passed through his doors over the years. Instinctively, Will reached out to meet Dr. Lecter’s hand.

“It’s good to see you,” said the doctor clasping his other hand over Will’s in a handshake that suggested more familiarity between the two than Will had ever interpreted. The professor had a reputation as intimidating and cold, and though Will had never seen him that way, he could understand why other students did. Will was intimidated by the professor only in that he was a respected expert in Will’s major, otherwise he’d found him approachable in office hours, but never quite this friendly- and _that_ intimidated him.

“Oh, you too, Dr. Lecter,” Will replied, hoping his handshake had been firm enough to belie his nerves.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Dr. Lecter asked.

“Oh, yes, I thought the actor playing Puck did a fantastic job.”

“Didn’t he? The part places much responsibility on an actor's shoulders, but he bore it well. Are you a frequent patron of Mr. Shakespeare’s work?”

“I mean I do love his stuff, I’ve read all his plays,” multiple times, in fact. Shakespeare had carved out a hole and buried himself in Will’s mind when his father first took him to see Romeo and Juliet as a child. He even had two tattoos inspired by Hamlet. “What about you?”

“I myself used to teach courses on his oeuvre, before psychology became my primary field of study.” Will was surprised, not that Dr. Lecter would be a man of many talents, but that he had the time in his life to cultivate more than one area of expertise. He was tenured, and only in his early 40s at most for Christ’s sake. Noting Will’s reaction, the doctor said “One man in his time plays many parts.”

“As you like it,” Will said, amused.

Dr. Lecter smiled, pleased that the young man understood the reference. “I certainly do.”

Will swallowed under the professor’s intense, but not unpleasant, gaze. A breath hung between them.

“Did you attend alone this evening?” Dr. Lecter asked with a cock of his head.

“Er yeah, there’s not many people in my life who share my interests.” There weren’t many people in Will’s life at all. His dad (though he was still back in Louisiana), his roommate Beverly, his dogs, and that was it. He wasn’t in the habit of making acquaintances beyond what was necessary for the dreaded group projects of college life. “And I like to take my own notes,” he continued, pulling a small spiral bound notebook out of his left pocket to demonstrate.

“May I?” Dr. Lecter asked, reaching for the notebook. Will held his breath and hesitantly handed the book to the man. He stuffed his fists in his pockets and studied his shoes, unable to look at Dr. Lecter while he skimmed the notes. Will was wearing his worn dress shoes, his only pair of dress shoes, that he got from jcpenney years ago, probably on clearance. They could have been shoes he got out of a thrift store dumpster compared to the ones less than a foot ahead of them on Dr. Lecter’s feet. Some kind of fancy Italian leather loafers, Will guessed, polished clean, well maintained, and probably $500 at least.

“Remind me,” said Dr. Lecter, breaking Will away from his thoughts, “are you working toward an English literature degree?”

“No, psychology, actually, funnily enough.”

“Yet you’ve only attended one of my courses,” Dr. Lecter mused with a furrowed brow.

“I transferred from Louisiana last year, and this is my last semester,” Will explained, nerves still prickling with anticipation of the professor’s response to his notes. He made an attempt at a joke; “So, did I pass, Doctor?”

“With flying colors, I should think,” Dr. Lecter beamed and handed the book back to Will. “You are very insightful, Mr. Graham.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Will blushed, fidgeting his feet.

“Ahem,” came a noise from the coat closet. Suddenly Will noticed the empty lobby, all the other patrons having filed out, leaving Will and Dr. Lecter standing alone while the staff began to clean the venue for the night. How long had they been talking?

“I believe that’s our cue to leave. May I walk you to your car?” Asked Hannibal as they both collected their coats.

“I actually walked here from my house,” said Will.

“Then may I offer you a ride home? I would not want you walking alone in the cold, especially this late at night,” offered Dr. Lecter.

“I’m really not that far, it’s only half an hour walk, and I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Will reasoned.

“I must insist, Mr. Graham. I would feel terrible if you caught a cold because I kept you so late,” Dr. Lecter said with a slight bow of his head.

“Okay,” Will gave in, “thank you, I really appreciate it.”

They reached the parking lot and Dr. Lecter pressed a button on his key. The lights on a black Bentley flashed as it unlocked. Will’s eyes widened. Of course Dr. Italian-leather-loafers had a _Bentley_ , though there was no way a lecturer’s salary- Shakespeare or psychology, tenured or not- paid for these luxuries. Inheritance, Will thought, embezzlement, bank robbery, money laundering maybe.

Dr. Lecter, ever the gentleman, opened the passenger door and gestured for Will to sit. He got into the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Left,” Will instructed.

“Tell me, Mr. Graham, is there a work of the bard’s that is closest to your heart?” Asked Dr. Lecter, glancing toward Will.

“I know it’s cliche, but Hamlet,” Will admitted, a bit embarrassed he didn’t have some kind of obscure favorite to impress the professor with, “I actually have a quote tattooed over my heart.”

“And what would that be?”

“‘To thine own self,’”

“‘Be true,’” Dr. Lecter finished the quote for him, “This above all, indeed.”

“Yeah, I got it after top surgery,” Will said, testing the waters, studying the doctor intensely for his response. Unfazed, he nodded, his eyes still on the road. Will let go of a breath he had been holding too tight. They stopped at a red light.

“Well, are you?” Dr. Lecter asked, turning to face Will.

“What?”

“True to yourself.” He answered, as if it were the most obvious and casual thing in the world.

Will blinked. “I’d like to think so.” That wasn’t an answer. Will had always felt like something was missing or buried deep within him like the molten core of the earth, he just didn’t know what. Maybe it was a hangover from years of gender dysphoria, maybe it was the natural college experience of finding oneself, but maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, it itched.

Dr. Lecter only hummed in response. Will’s sweat felt cold, the professor’s gaze felt hot and omniscient. Will thanked god when the light turned green, forcing Dr. Lecter’s focus back on the road.

“I have a rare copy of Hamlet in my home library, 1676. I would love to have you for dinner and show it to you,” said Dr. Lecter, “and hear more of your thoughts on tonight’s production.”

Will parted his lips but found himself speechless. The book must have been expensive, a prized possession and Dr. Lecter was offering to show it to Will, some random ex-student, after just one conversation. And he was offering dinner. And a chance to pick his brain. Not to mention the ride home in the Bentley. Will couldn’t remember a time in his life when he experienced this much generosity all at once, especially from a virtual stranger and a harsh grader at that. How many other students got opportunities like this? Especially undergrads, not many, Will guessed. He audibly swallowed. “Wow, thank you, Dr. Lecter. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes, Mr. Graham.” There was something sly about Dr. Lecter’s smile this time.

“Number 237, on the left,” Will pointed to the little house he shared with Beverly, “Will. Please. Call me Will, Doctor.”

“Then I insist you call me Hannibal, Will,” Dr. Lecter- Hannibal said as he parked in front of the house. He produced his wallet and a pen from his pocket and began writing on the back of a business card. “Here is my personal phone number, please do call me and let me know when you are available for dinner.” He handed Will the card and their fingers brushed. They lingered for a breath, though Will was holding his.

“Thank you, Doc- Hannibal. Thank you,” Will said, starting to get out of the car. The name tasted sweet on his tongue.

“Goodnight, Will,” Hannibal called after him, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Will silently prayed Hannibal hadn’t seen the deep blush on his face as he unlocked his front door.

* * *

“Good morning, Winston,” Will yawned and scratched behind the mutt’s ear. It had been about four days since Will saw A Midsummer Night’s Dream and became reacquainted with Hannibal Lecter. He hadn’t called Hannibal, though. Despite Hannibal’s clear invitation, Will was still in disbelief that the doctor would be interested in his presence, a sort of impostor syndrome kept him from picking up the phone. He certainly wasn’t procrastinating for lack of want to accept the invitation. Hannibal was charming, attractive, rich, intelligent, an expert in multiple fields of Will’s studies, and, for some reason, he was interested in what Will had to say. It had been hard that week to focus on his homework when the line “parting is such sweet sorrow” played over and over in his head.

Will had laid the business card on his bedside table that night. Now, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Eggshell white on high quality card stock, it read:

> _Johns Hopkins_
> 
> _Hannibal Lecter, M.D., Ph.D._
> 
> _Professor, Department of Psychological and Brain Sciences_

It listed his office address, his office phone number, and his university email. Will turned it over to look at the number Hannibal wrote in fine black ink. It was not the typical unreadable doctor’s handwriting. Hannibal’s digits were calligraphic, precise. It would be impossible for Will to excuse himself for not calling because he misread the number. Maybe he could text? No, Dr. Lecter seemed like a man who would find that impolite and impersonal. Will sighed and set the card back down.

His morning coffee was bland and uneventful, but he drank it for the caffeine addiction, not the taste. It cleared his bleary eyedness and he checked his calendar on his phone. A dog walking gig for three dogs in the morning, a class at one p.m., and a class at three p.m. Typical thursday.

After his banal morning chores and a reluctant decision to put on jeans rather than live in his sweatpants, he grabbed his keys, clipped a leash on Buster (the smaller of his two dogs), and made his way to the car. First stop was to Mrs. Pearce’s house to pick up her two year old Labrador retriever Honey. Mrs. Pearce lived in a large house on top of a hill, probably with her husband, though Will had never seen him. She worked in some financial sector or other, hence the grandiosity of the house. Distantly Will wondered, thinking back to the shoes and the car and the antique book, if Dr. Lecter lived in a similar house. A lot of Will’s clientele were wealthy, actually. Baltimore was an expensive city to live in, so those who could afford a dedicated dog walker typically could afford other such luxuries. Will, on the other hand, could afford his rent and his bills, but beyond that money was tight. Most of his clients, even though they hired him and were polite in their demands, looked down on him, treated him a bit like he was also a dog. But Mrs. Pearce and Honey were his favorite clients. She actually greeted him every morning and asked how he was. He usually hated small talk, but she was pleasant and well-meaning.

“Morning, Mrs. Pearce, morning, Honey,” Will said when Mrs. Pearce opened her door, Honey peeking out from behind her legs.

“Good morning, Will, how are you?” She smiled.

“Fine, thank you, Ma’am, how are you?”

“Oh just fine, thank you. Go on, Honey,” she handed Will Honey’s leash, then presented a plastic sandwich bag with a few muffins inside, “and this is for you, Will, blueberry muffins, made them myself. They better all be gone by the time you get back, I know you don’t eat breakfast before you come here, and I won’t have you going hungry,” she said with a wag of her finger. Will opened his mouth to protest but knew it was futile. She’d given him this same lecture before, and she was right, too. He wasn’t particularly good at feeding himself, most of his diet consisted of spaghetti and leftover spaghetti.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pearce, you’re too kind,” Will smiled, “I’ll see you soon.”

He continued his route picking up Hawk and Princess, an Akita and a pit bull respectively, to drive them all to his favorite dog park on the edge of the city, Paw Point. He felt an easy peace there, he could feel hidden amongst the trees, or lay down in the open field, or dip his toes in the lake, all while the dogs roamed and played around him. Today he chose a bench to sit and eat his muffins and review some notes for class.

In the forensic psychology course Will took with Dr. Lecter last semester, the material had been harder but more interesting. Killers fascinated Will. Tired him, too, but the cases were like car crashes he couldn’t look away from. In class he struggled to look away from Dr. Lecter too, always in his sharp three piece suits and brightly patterned ties, and never in the same combination. The way he paced the lecture hall as he talked with easy swagger. The way he had approached Will at the play and smiled with a cat-like grin. The way he looked at Will when he bade him good night, as if his mouth were watering.

Will realized he’d read the same paragraph three times now, too distracted by his own thoughts to absorb any of it. Fuck it, he thought, and pulled out his phone.

He tensed and flexed his hand while the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dr. Lecter, this is Will Graham, we met at Midsummer and you gave me your number,” Will over-explained.

“How could I forget, Will. I’m pleased to hear from you. I hope this means you’ve decided to accept my invitation to dinner?” An insecure part of Will imagined Hannibal had forgotten all about the invitation.

“If the offer is still on the table.”

“I hope to place many things on the table. Are you available tomorrow night? Say, seven? Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

“Yes- er, no- I mean yes, seven works, and no I don’t have any restrictions, I’ll eat anything,” Will stumbled.

“Excellent, I’ll send you my address, or will you need another lift?”

“No I’ll have my car.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Unfortunately I have other business to attend to now, but I would rather catch up with you in person, anyway. Have a pleasant rest of your day, Will.”

“Thank you, you too Dr. Lecter.”

“Will,” he said firmly but gently.

“Sorry,” Will blushed and corrected himself, “Hannibal.”

* * *

The rest of Thursday had been unremarkable, and Friday morning started the same. For the first time all week Will’s head felt clear. Yes, he was giddy with anticipation for his dinner with Hannibal later, but the anxiety of the uncertainty had subsided. Hannibal _wanted_ him to come to dinner, _wanted_ to hear his thoughts on Shakespeare. He just hoped he didn’t stumble over his words when he got there. Just one more class today and then a clear schedule until the evening.

When class was over Will slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed down the block in downtown Baltimore to catch a bus back to his place. He wondered if Hannibal had ever taken a bus in his life- he couldn’t imagine the doctor fitting in amongst the rest of the downtown commute with his plaid suits. He could sooner imagine Hannibal getting robbed for looking like that.

SMACK  
Then a scream.

The sound was so loud and so close Will felt like his ears might have popped. He whipped his head around to see a small gasping crowd gathering at the base of a high rise just behind him. Someone was on the phone, clearly talking to the police. Between the legs of the crowd, Will saw blood pooling on the sidewalk.

Magnetically, Will inserted himself in the crowd of spectators. At their feet lay a balding middle aged man in business attire, his limbs flung at awkward angles like a rag doll. The blood on the concrete was spilling from the man’s- the body’s- skull, ears, and messy puncture wounds scattered across his chest. The man had been stabbed, brutally. Something green caught Will’s eye. The body’s mouth lay slightly agape and Will could make out a twenty dollar bill peaking out past the lips, though there was clearly far more cash in the body than that.

_If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say that Brutus’s love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more._

The line invaded Will’s mind like a dark tendril that penetrated his ear and wrapped around his brain. Will’s head span. The sunlight seemed to strobe. Time slowed like the earth stopped spinning with a low groan. His peripheral vision went dark and the crowd faded into obscurity. His hands felt heavy and he looked down.

_Is this a dagger which I see before me?_

He gripped the handle of the blade and looked up, locking eyes with the man he had just seen on the concrete. The man’s eyes widened and he looked down to the knife in Will’s hands as it sunk deep into his chest. Will snatched back the knife and watched as the man fell backwards into an abyss.

SMACK

Will blinked rapidly against the harsh light until he could open his eyes to see clouds. Something cradled the back of his head.

“Can you tell me your name?”

He looked to his left. An EMT crouched over him. Will started to sit up but the EMT placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Will Graham,” he groaned.

“Do you know where you are, Will?”

“Baltimore.”

“Good, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.”

“And now?”

“One.”

“Good, Will, I don’t think you’re concussed, but we’re gonna stay here for a moment to check. Do you think you can sit up?”

Will grasped the EMT’s hand when they offered it and he pulled himself up. He was still on the sidewalk outside the same high rise- the headquarters of “Addertech,” according to the logo- but the crowd of spectators had been mostly dispersed by a growing group of police officers and EMTs.

“I must’ve fainted,” Will grumbled.

“I think so. Luckily for your head, your backpack took the brunt of the fall.” Ah. That’s why his back hurt, he’d landed into his laptop. He’d have to check that later. “You’re gonna be fine, but we can take you back to the hospital to keep an eye on you.”

“No, no I can’t afford that,” that and he wanted to avoid the invasive questions of ER doctors not trained in trans health.

“Ok, is there someone you can call to come get you?” Will nodded and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He dialed Beverly.

“What’s up?” Beverly said, cheerily.

“Hey, Bev, I need you to come get me, I passed out.”

“Oh, God, are you okay? Where are you? I’m getting my keys now.”

“Yeah I’m gonna be fine, I’m by the bus stop near that Addertech place.”

“Wait, isn’t that where they just found a body? I saw on twitter- sorry, I shouldn’t worry you right now.”

“It’s fine, yeah, I saw it.”

“Jesus, okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Bev.” He hung up.

“I’m gonna stay with you until your friend gets here,” the EMT said, “if you vomit, faint, or have any pain that doesn’t ease in the next few days, you need to go to the doctor, Will, okay?”

“Okay,” Will sighed.

When Beverly showed up, the EMT helped Will to his feet. He thanked them and blew out a long and steady breath as he sat down in the passenger seat.

“You okay, man?” Beverly asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just gonna have a bump on my head I think. D’you have any aspirin?” Beverly popped the glove box in front of Will and grabbed the bottle of pills. Will swallowed two capsules as Beverly pulled onto the road en route to their house.

“Did- did you see the body?” Beverly asked. Will closed his eyes and nodded. “Shit. People think it’s the CEO of that company.”

Will said nothing. They drove in silence, Will looking out the window at the passing cars. Beverly pulled into their driveway and parked the car. She looked over at Will.

“FBI still on your five year plan after seeing that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Will. He looked over at the clock on the dashboard. 5:43pm. He’d nearly forgotten about his dinner with Dr. Lecter. Nearly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This killer,” Hannibal said, “his heart is in the coffin there with Caesar?”  
> Will nodded. “I think so.”  
> “Did you feel it? Brutus’s love for Caesar?”  
> Will met Hannibal’s eyes, his dilated pupils belying his otherwise unreadable expression. What was that in his eyes? Curiosity? Repulsion? Lust? Hunger?  
> Will blinked as if to wipe away the stare that bore through him. It didn’t work.  
> “Yes.”

Apparently the events downtown had made Will sweat through his clothes. A shower would do him good anyway to scrub off the phantom blood on his hands. As soon as he and Bev were inside he made a beeline for the bathroom before Beverly could ask him any more questions. He’d answer her, but not yet. He stripped down and got under the water while it was still cold. It didn’t matter. He breathed a sigh of relief even as he shuddered under the temperature. He closed his eyes and let the water run on his face as he scrubbed himself, trying to meditate on the sensation of the water rather than the memory of that man’s face.

Out of the shower he stared his closet down. Hannibal had seen Will in his scruffy flannels and jeans in office hours, but he felt an added pressure to look good for Hannibal tonight. After some consideration, he decided on a dark blue, long-sleeve button-down, dark jeans (which were clean, thank God), and the dress shoes he’d worn at the play. He fidgeted with his shirt in front of the mirror, doing up the buttons to the top then unbuttoning the top two and doing them up again, tucking it into his jeans then untucking it.

6:30. Not bad timing.

“Why are you dressed up? I would’ve thought you’d spend the rest of the day in sweats after what happened,” Beverly asked, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom with her arms crossed as Will tried to do anything with his hair.

“I’m going to dinner.”

“What, like a date?”

“No it’s- do you know Professor Lecter in the psych department?”

“You’re going on a date with Professor Lecter?”

“No, no, Dr. Lecter invited me to dinner to show me this old copy of Hamlet he’s got.”

“Bet that’s not all he’s gonna show you,” she teased. Will rolled his eyes.

“Beverly, he’s a respected psychology professor. We met after I went to see Midsummer and apparently he used to teach Shakespeare. That’s two things I’m interested in, it’s a networking opportunity I shouldn’t pass up.”

“Like you’ve ever wanted to network.” She met his eyes in the mirror. “You're seriously okay though? I mean after what you saw? What _did_ you see?” Will turned around to face her. He leaned his hips back on the counter and rubbed his neck with his hand as though if he kneaded hard enough, he could wring the vision of the knife in his hands out of his muscles.

“A body. The body. On the sidewalk. I heard it land but I didn’t see it. He’d been stabbed in the chest, maybe half a dozen times. There was cash in his mouth.”

“Wait, cash in his mouth? The killer’s rich enough that he can gag someone with money,” she suggested.

“No, it felt more symbolic.”

“Money talks?” She offered.

“It does, but he doesn’t. Not anymore.” There was certainly more to the symbolism than that. “I gotta go.” Beverly stepped aside to let him through.

“Alright, have fun ‘networking,’” she said, putting air quotes around the word.

“Very funny,” Will said dryly, “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

Will had been right, as it happened, about the scale of Hannibal Lecter’s home. Its three stories dwarfed Will in his second hand Volvo as he pulled into the driveway. Maybe the doctor had a spouse, a partner, or children to help occupy the undoubtedly many rooms of the place. Will had been so caught up in the excitement of meeting Hannibal again he had ignored the real possibility that he would have to socialize with whoever lived with him. Will squeezed the steering wheel once before finally pulling himself out of the car. He’d barely knocked when the door swung open.

“Will, perfect timing,” Hannibal said, grasping Will’s hand in another too-familiar handshake. “Please, come in,” he stepped back and gestured into the house for Will to cross the threshold. The outside of the doctor’s house may have been large, but the inside was grand. Even a room as simple as the foyer was lavishly decorated with a fireplace, an intricate rug, chairs, flowers, gold-framed art, and everything accented gold, grey, and royal blue. So mesmerized by the interior was Will that he barely noticed Hannibal helping him out of his coat.

“Do you live here alone?” Will blurted out before his more rational brain could catch his mouth.

“I do,” said Hannibal, seemingly more amused by Will’s impulsive question than offended, “would you like a drink? I’ve just decanted a Cabernet Sauvignon to complement dinner.”

“Oh, sure, thank you.” Hannibal smiled and stretched out his arm, gesturing for Will to step deeper into the house.

The dining room glowed under the light of an iron chandelier hanging above the center of a long mahogany table which was adorned with a sprawling arrangement of purple hydrangeas, daffodils, and pale yellow rhododendrons that surrounded two tall candles. The contrast between the centerpiece and the dark blue and grey walls of the room only served to make each element more vibrant and alive. As Hannibal moved past Will to the sideboard he lightly brushed his palm on the small of Will’s back, a simple gesture to pardon himself for squeezing past Will in the doorway, but it sent electricity down Will’s spine. If Hannibal noticed Will’s shiver, he didn’t mention it.

Deep maroon liquid sat in a simple glass decanter on the sideboard next to two wine glasses and an ornate vase filled with striped brown feathers and dry water reeds. Hannibal poured them each a glass as Will crossed the room towards him and stopped in front of the fireplace, noticing the painting above the mantle.

“Leda and the swan,” Hannibal supplied as he handed Will his glass, “do you know the myth?”

“I’m more familiar with the Yeats poem than the myth itself,” Will said. “Thank you.” Will watched Hannibal circle his own wine under his nose before taking a sip and studying the glass as he swallowed. Will mirrored the action and pretended not to notice Hannibal observing his movements.

“‘A shudder in the loins engenders there the broken wall, the burning roof and tower, and Agamemnon dead,’” quoted Hannibal, referencing the Yeats poem, “Yeats believed history moved in cycles of roughly two thousand years and that the rape of Leda marked the beginning of the new epoch.”

“If he was right we’re due for a new one,” said Will, “‘And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?’”

“‘The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.’ I think I’d rather be full of passionate intensity when the beast is born,” said Hannibal. Will furrowed his brow and considered that a moment. “Come, sit, and I’ll serve dinner,” Hannibal said left the room. Will hesitated but pulled out the chair nearest him and sat, taking another sip of his wine as he went. Notes of cherry and black currant danced on his tongue, richer and more flavorful than any wine he’d ever had, though, to be fair, most of his wine came in a box. Hannibal reentered the dining room.

“Roast beef tenderloin with a raspberry purée and a root vegetable salad,” said Hannibal, reaching around Will’s shoulder to place a beautifully plated dish in front of him. Hannibal sat across from him and stilled which Will realized meant he was waiting for Will to take the first bite. Will cut a strip of meat and brought it to his lips. When he bit into the tender flesh he all but threw his head back in pleasure.

“This is probably the best beef I’ve ever had, are you hiding a culinary qualification from your business card?”

“Merely a hobby, I assure you, though I take great pleasure in my hobbies.”

“Such as?”

“I enjoy theater as you know, art, the opera, I play the harpsichord and the theremin.”

“I’ve only ever heard of that. That’s the one you don’t touch, right?”

“With the theremin, you compose in thin air, and deep in your core. Perhaps I’ll give you a lesson someday, if you’ve not tired of my lectures already.”

“No I loved your lectures,” Will said genuinely, “I was reminded of them earlier today, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, because of the er,” he tried to swallow his nerves along with his next bite, “the body, downtown today.”

“Yes, of course, the murdered man at Addertech. Did you read about it in Tattle Crime?”

“No I— I saw it. The body. I heard it land and saw it seconds later on my way home from class.”

“How did you react?”

“I fainted.”

“Ah,” mused Hannibal, “Coursework can only prepare you so much for the reality of viscera. It is a shocking reminder of one's own mortality to see a corpse, that the line between life and death can be crossed by breaking a barrier as thin as the skin.”

“That’s not why I fainted. I—” Will explained, rather hastlier than he had intended. Something about Hannibal made Will want to expose himself completely, double entendres aside. Almost compulsively. “I imagined myself killing him. Not like the exercises you gave in class, but not unlike them either. I didn’t intend to imagine it, I just did.” Will had been squeezing his eyes shut to avoid what he expected to be a judgemental gaze from the professor, but when there was no verbal reply, Will opened his eyes to find only a curious expression on Hannibal’s face, clearly waiting for Will to continue. He did; “I have a very vivid imagination because of my hyper-empathy. I can feel people’s emotions, thoughts, motivations as easily as feeling my own. Sometimes easier. I can imagine myself looking through their eyes, but I don’t know who killed that man, and yet I still felt him.”

“What was this killer feeling when he stabbed the man? What did you feel?”

“Anger. Justice. Betrayal,” he paused, then; “Power.” Will may not have seen it, but Hannibal’s eyes lit up like someone had struck a match behind them and let the flame flicker and dance. What Will did feel was the heat. “This CEO,” he continued, “was money hungry. Hell, you don’t need hyper-empathy to see the symbolism of the money in his mouth. But it’s not about money for this killer, it’s about… restoring greatness to Rome.” He stared into the middle distance, suddenly feeling like he was looking into the victim’s eyes again that seemed to say “Et tu, Brute?”

“This killer,” Hannibal said, “his heart is in the coffin there with Caesar?”

Will nodded. “I think so.”

“Did you feel it? Brutus’s love for Caesar?”

Will met Hannibal’s eyes, his dilated pupils belying his otherwise unreadable expression. What _was_ that in his eyes? Curiosity? Repulsion? Lust? Hunger?

Will blinked as if to wipe away the stare that bore through him. It didn’t work.

“Yes.”

* * *

Conversation and wine flowed after the subject changed from the murder to Will’s studies, Hannibal’s research, and their thoughts on the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. They quickly found an easy rhythm of banter, agreeing on the efficacy of various elements of the show, the students’ interpretations of their respective characters.

Eventually, dinner was over and the plates were cleared- Will offered to help clean up but Hannibal insisted he relax; “You’re a guest in my home, Will, you needn’t work to earn your supper.”

“Shall we retire to the study?” Hannibal asked, “I often enjoy a nice port after dinner, and I recall a promise to show you a certain book.”

He led Will into an adjoining room. Another grand fireplace graced the center of the wall opposite the door, around it shelves reached high filled with books. There were arm leather chairs, a chaise lounge, a desk, a large globe, and all manner of artifacts that could have belonged to a museum like statuettes and animal skulls. Hannibal headed straight for the globe, flicking some kind of latch at the equator, and lifted the northern hemisphere to reveal the hidden bottles and glass tumblers because of course Hannibal had a globe bar cabinet. Everything about Hannibal and his home, Will was beginning to realize, had hidden depths. The doctor handed Will a glass of tawny port and offered Will a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace which Hannibal added a few logs to. Will had been looking around at various decorations of the room but in this new position, in this unreasonably comfortable armchair, Will found he had the perfect view of Hannibal’s back as he lit and stoked the fire. The professor’s broad shoulders pulled the fabric of his suit jacket tight as he worked. Will swallowed too large a gulp of his wine in an effort to hide his face behind the glass when Hannibal turned around.

“Now, to find that book for you. I have a section of my library dedicated to the good bard,” Hannibal said, turning to scan one of the shelves, “Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a black book and laid it open on a sheet of foam that was sitting on the desk- a measure to protect old books from damage. Will stood, leaving his port on the table beside the armchair, and crossed to the desk with his hands clasped behind his back. There on the desk lay the book open to the title page that confirmed it “The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark, printed in 1676.”

“Wow,” Will gasped, “it’s in such good condition, it’s beautiful.”

“I never bring something into my home if I don’t find it beautiful, and I take great pride in caring for the things I find beautiful,” Hannibal said with that feline smile on his face again. Will blushed severely. “You may touch it if you like.”

“What?” Will started.

“You may touch the book if you would like to, Will. As I said, I maintain its condition religiously, it is unlikely that you will damage it.”

“That’s a lot of faith you’re putting in me, Dr. Lecter.” Hannibal only smiled and returned his own gaze to the book expectantly and well, who was Will to deny him?

Will gently turned the page with his thumb and forefinger, careful to touch as little of the ink as possible despite Hannibal’s assurance that it would be fine. He took his time flipping through the blonde paper, smiling at passages he instantly recognized, noting some of the intricate illustrations. When he reached act five he nearly gasped.

“This looks so much like my tattoo,” Will said, more to himself than Hannibal, but of course Hannibal took interest.

“Hmm?” Hannibal leaned over Will’s shoulder ever so slightly to look at the illustration. “You’ve told me about the quote on your chest, where’s this one?”

Will swallowed and looked up at Hannibal. “On my side at my hip,” he touched his left hip where the tattoo lay under his shirt, “here.”

Hannibal tracked the movement of Will’s hands. Hannibal reached down Will’s hip and brushed his fingers over Will’s. “May I?” He asked. Will bit his lip and nodded.

Hannibal's hands traced slowly down the stitching of Will’s shirt. He crooked his middle and index finger and dragged the hem up, revealing the black and white hand cradling a skull- Hamlet considering the skull of poor Yorick. Will stared at Hannibal’s hands as he brushed his thumb over the ink. Slowly, Hannibal crouched so his face was level with the tattoo. Will’s eyes widened and his breath hitched as Hannibal inspected the art up close, still lightly stroking the linework. He lifted his gaze to meet Will’s.

“Exquisite,” Hannibal almost whispered. Will felt dizzy, yellow stars began to float in his vision. Was he talking about the tattoo, or Will, or both? His hand was strong but gentle, slightly calloused. It took everything in Will’s power not to shiver under Hannibal’s touch and gaze.

After mere seconds that felt like hours, Hannibal stood and retracted his hands. Will finally exhaled and blinked away the fog from his eyes, trying to convince himself the headiness he felt was from the wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Will's tattoo like this: https://pin.it/4aietAZ  
> The Yeats poems referenced are "Leda and the Swan" and "The Second Coming"
> 
> TBC


End file.
